Just as the distant mountains of her dreams materialized, Kaan stood up from the bed, pulling Liv back to reality.

“What are you doing?” she asked, yawning.

“I’m hungry.”

“There are a few slices of dried apple in my bag and it won’t be long before we taste Elijah’s stew.”

“I don’t eat fish.” Kaan sat down on the mattress and studied the scratched wooden floorboards. “There is a yellow house opposite the Elf Bosket, with a shop on one side and a gnome bakery on the other. The scent of baked bread, Liv, is so wonderful that it can rip me from my dreams. When the wind blows from the east, it’s everywhere in the bosket. I’ve tasted their bread a few times, even pastries, but it was either old leftovers or thrown at us by visitors. Today, as we hurried towards the harbor I smelled something similar in that big street.”

“You mean the Main Street? And you want to go there? That’s stupid and dangerous.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“And how would you pay for the bread?”

Kaan tilted his head and looked at her. A pair of hungry eyes beat any argument, they cut through reason and arouse compassion in all of us. Liv was no exception.

“Fine,” she said, “but act like you go there every day.”

A quarter of an hour later they walked out of the bakery carrying a loaf of bread and a cinnamon pretzel each. Liv had slipped a red candied apple in her pocket without paying for it, as was the right of a half-blood living outside the law. Kaan bit a small piece of his pretzel and chewed gently.

“It’s not what I expected,” he said and took a big bite, crumbs flying out of his mouth.

“That’s a sweet pretzel with cinnamon in it,” she explained. “Cinnamon is a spice from far-off islands in the South Sea,” she added.

“It tastes bark,” he mumbled, his mouth full of pretzel. “But I like it.”

People from every corner of the continent swirled past them. Many of them were merchants from Norma. It was not easy to distinguish them from the locals, but Liv could tell them apart. Tiny details on their gray-brown outfits, such as a button or a handkerchief, were of bright colors and shone brighter than a rainbow on a cloudy sky. Eastern men with turbans bigger than tablecloths stood a stone’s throw away, arguing in a foreign language. A group of silent women wearing black dresses marched like soldiers down the street in two columns, their faces painted gray and their lips the color of blood. Everyone’s hair glistened with grease and was arranged in a tight knot. The seasoned ladies in the line’s front had a dozen rings stuck through their lips and noses. Liv recognized it as a sign of seniority. The adolescent girls in the back only carried a thin iron ring in the corner of their lower lips.

“The Nuns of the Night,” she muttered with a voice of someone swallowing kerosene once they were out of earshot. “My governess joined their order after she left my family.”

Kaan was not listening. He paid no more attention to the nuns than to the beggars in the gutter. Two girls on a balcony caught his eyes. They wore hats with so many bows that their ribbons could tie together all the elves in the Dream Park. He walked up to a cross-street and looked out over the glistening sea. It was a hundred times more beautiful than the gray ocean in his dreams, where the rain never stopped falling. On the horizon, the shape of a slim creature rose from the water, then dove beneath the surface. He wondered if it had been a naiad. To his own surprise he realized that he felt at home amongst the strange people on the street. Off the coast of Anland, he was free. A few miles out at sea, he and Liv were equals.

“I’m ready to go back to the Rising Cloud. Let’s hide in the cabin until we reach Northport.”

Liv took her eyes off the line of nuns disappearing behind a house corner, grabbed Kaan by the hand and led him through an alley to the harbor. She stepped out on the quay, but the elf pulled her back and pushed her against a wall. A coach as shiny black as oil thundered past them at less than an arm’s length distance. The coachman clung to the reins and screamed at a galloping chestnut mare. A stride away from the quayside, the horse stopped short and kicked a line of nearby barrels into the sea. The carriage swung around, its rear wheel spinning in the air above the water. The horse continued to stomp its hooves, white saliva pouring from its mouth.

Kaan scurried over to the animal and grabbed its mule with both his hands. He stared into her red eyes and spoke in an inaudible voice. Liv could not hear what he said, only that his words carried tones, like a melody without rhythm. She ran over to him and asked if she could help.

“Damn you, what are you doing! Do you know who I am? No one but our country’s foremost professor.”

A short, thin man slammed open the coach door and stepped onto the pier. His face was so pale that it shone in contrast to his ash-gray hair. His voice was unsteady and filled with anger, the kind of anger that hides fear when you scratch away its fragile surface.

“You have driven your last passenger,” he said to the coachman. “I will write a letter to Director Arthur Greene, who is a friend of the master coaches in Sommerfort and let him know that you almost killed me.”

The coachman paid no attention to the professor. He climbed down from the driver’s seat with some effort and ran over on shaking legs to his horse, his stomach bulging as he moved. The mare lightened up and neighed with recognition as he approached her. He pushed Kaan aside and caressed the mare’s mule. The elf pointed to a red swelling under her right eye.

“Mountain wasps,” he explained. The coachman exhaled and nodded in agreement, then his expression tightened and he turned to face the professor. The thin man’s words stood queued up in his head, and now his mind processed their meaning.

“Professor Mendel, my deepest apologies,” he said. “It was an accident. Please don’t tell my master. I have to provide for five children and a sick mother. I’ve been driving a coach for fifteen years and it’s the only thing I know how to do. We own nothing, and if I stop now, my kids will live on the street. Please forgive me. I beg of you, give me another chance.”

Professor Mendel picked up a scratched pocket flask from his coat. His cheeks turned pink and his eyes watered as he brought it to his mouth.

“Well,” he said, this time filled with superiority, the kind of superiority that hides weakness when you scratch it. “Fortunately, I’m a reasonable man. A fair man. It is not you who has done wrong, it’s your horse. The animal is crazy. Animals often are. A horse that cannot be controlled is of no use. Kill it or earn a few coins by selling it to a slaughterhouse.”

A tear trickled the side of the coachman’s cheek. He stroked the mare’s mane and put his arms around her neck, then he nodded in response.

“Just don’t eat it yourself,” said the professor, fixing his gaze on the man’s round belly. “Now help me with my suitcase before I change my mind. I have not yet decided if I intend to pay you, remember that. That boat will take me to Northport,” he continued and pointed at Captain Mark’s ship.

He put his walking stick on the ground and walked straight towards Liv and Kaan. Liv turned her face away in a way she hoped appeared natural. Kaan kept his eyes fixed on the scientist. He ground his teeth and expressed such disgust that he might as well have thrown himself at the man and bitten him. But the professor walked past them as if they did not exist. A few steps behind came the panting coachman, bent under the weight of the wooden suitcase on his shoulders.

Professor Mendel was still shaken and summoned the little self-control he possessed not to throw himself on the ground and cry. He promised himself that this would not lead to another phobia. Not another incident that constrained him. He did not want to fear riding a coach, but as soon as the word horse throttled through his head, tremors propagated up his spine. The professor glanced at the mare. Next to it stood the slender man in a hunting cap who had calmed the horse, scowling at him. Sense told him that the mare was mad and he ought to just let the incident pass, but something stronger than reason wanted him to see the crazy animal dead. Someone had to make amends. He cursed himself for his goodness to the coachman.

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He took another step toward Captain Mark’s ship, then stopped and looked back. The girl with auburn hair was pulling the glaring man away from the dock. A group of singing seamen blocked the way between them and he could be sure without a closer inspection. It looked like him, but it seemed so unlikely.

“Stop!” he shouted, but his voice was not strong enough for anyone to hear him. “Stop them!” he said to the coachman, pointing at the young couple. The coachman crossed his eyes in despair and dropped the suitcase on the ground with a loud crack. Then he ran, or rather walked as fast as he could, after them. They were out of sight before he had covered half the distance to the buildings behind the docks. Someone was shouting for a constable from afar. He heard the cry again and understood that it belonged to the professor. Hoping to ask a favor in return later, he decided to help the man.

“We need a police!” echoed the coachman’s voice across the quay.

For a moment, everyone in the harbor became silent. Then the crowd started moving, and a group of curious fishermen asked him questions. Kaan closed his eyes and concentrated on hearing what was happening. He could make out the professor’s gasping breath and the curious whispers of the surrounding people. Hooves clattered across the quay. The professor explained that he was an important biologist, and that there was an elf loose nearby. Kaan told Liv that they had to hurry. He had seen how awkward humans ran and knew they could never catch them on foot, but the rider worried him.

The buildings of Southport followed the bay from east to west and formed straight lanes up the hillside. Further along the coast, the slopes were steeper. Relentless sea winds made it impossible for trees to grow there and instead a green and thorny underbrush covered the ground. There were no roads leading up those slopes, and it was impossible to leave the town unseen in that direction. They moved on swift feet up the hill through the same alleyways as earlier that morning, away from the coast. Unless they wanted to hide in Southport, they had to follow the railway tracks towards Sommerfort or embark on the winding mountain road that disappeared in the clouds.

They ran on in silence without encountering too many people. Where the houses grew sparser, and the roadside turned into a forest of lime trees and maples, they reached a crossroad. The elf darted off in the direction of the railway yard, but Liv caught up with him and pulled the elf with her onto the other road.

Soon Kaan heard clambering hoofs approaching, and he signaled for them to stop. The streets of Southport formed straight lines from the water up the hill. Shaking off a pursuer was no easy task.

“Is it just one man?” asked Liv.

“Yes. Let’s go into the forest.”

“No, they’ll track us down. They’ll have hounds and trackers who know these woods better than we do.”

Despite the circumstances, the elf smiled. “Then let them come. No hound will do us any harm.”

“No, let’s show them what elves who live outside the law are made of.” As she said so, Liv felt something unleash inside her. Her heart pounded, almost cracking her ribs, but instead of ticking like a stressful clock it beat with the power of a war drum. Kaan looked at her and took a step back, frightened. He had to accept that Liv was the one who took their decisions, and that they had assumed their unique roles in their small flock of two.

*

Before long, the pursuing rider caught up with them. It was a constable dressed in a well-pressed uniform, with plenty of tobacco stuffed under his lip and a glittering rifle resting against his shoulder. He was old enough to have his first grandchildren, but was strong for his age and sat in the saddle as only experienced riders do. Around him everything was quiet, but he did not allow himself to relax. He sensed that he was getting near. His instinct told him that the creature was heading for the forest, so he rode up to the crossroad and turned right onto the mountain path.

Kaan stepped out onto the road a dozen steps ahead of the rider. In one hand he held a knife. With the other he took off his cap and revealed his elven ears. The constable swung forth his rifle and rested the gun stock against his left arm. He spat out a mouthful of tobacco juice and pulled back the safety lock while the horse ambled forward. The man brought the weapon to his chin, not letting go of the elf with his eyes for a second.

“Don’t move!” he commanded and took aim.

Kaan raised his hand to the rider. The horse stopped with a jerk and stomped its hoofs. It twisted its head and snapped for the rifle with its teeth. The constable withdrew the baton from his belt and hit the horse between its ears. Then the elf was beside them, watching him with distaste. A young woman had joined them out of nowhere. In her hand she held a round stone the size of a fist. Something hard hit the constable between his eyes. His feet slid out of the stirrups, and the saddle swayed. The horse raised its front legs and kicked the empty air with its hoofs. It jumped, and the constable landed on the ground with his neck first.

Liv picked up the baton and clubbed him in the head three times. She patted the lifeless body with her foot, then walked back to the elf, the baton still in her hand.

A kind of fire shone in her eyes, which Kaan recognized too well. Both Leon and the officers often showed it. It was the thirst for blood and the desire to go as far as possible with brute force. A fire of violence sometimes required to survive, but which burns too long once it has been lit. Liv put a hand on each side of his head and pressed their lips together. It was a genuine kiss, an instinctive act that causes other flames to rise, with fuel stolen from the fires of anger.

Kaan kept his eyes closed for a long time after she let go. When he opened them, Liv was on her way up the road. She dropped the baton to the ground, as if nothing had happened.

*

The next hours passed by without Liv and Kaan exchanging a single word. They followed the mountain road away from the wide blue sea. As with everything in her life, Liv moved forward not knowing where she was heading.

The path became more broken the further up the hill they went and eventually ceased to exist. Where it ended a rusty railway track began. Liv recalled her father telling her that the Parliament planned a railroad across the mountains between Eastport and Southport. The project turned out too expensive and was canceled soon after the construction started. They continued along the railway without either of them saying a word. It was no uncomfortable silence, but a uniting silence which brought them closer.

The clouds dispersed and revealed a snow-covered mountain towering in front of them. They stopped to drink water from a nearby stream and admire the mountaintop.

“Domedus, the highest peak in Anland,” said Liv. “Never have I seen it up close.”

“I have,” said Kaan.

“What?” A frown formed between her eyebrows.

“I wasn’t born in the Dream Park. I was very young when they moved us there, but Leon told me we lived in another Elf Bosket, a larger one, with fewer visitors. My first memory is sitting squeezed between my brothers in a wagon on our way to Sommerfort. I suppose I remember this mountain from the journey.”

From the hillside below came a sizzle, like the sound of water pouring onto a massive campfire. A man shouted a few words in a croaking language neither of them recognized. They ran over to a precipice nearby to scout and took cover in a dense thicket. A hundred strides down the hill stood a purple air balloon. Bushy men with pale brown skin swirled around it and cast ropes off thick poles. In the balloon’s basket sat an elderly eastern gentleman with a long white beard, calling out instructions to the other men. Next to him, a violet flame burned out of a metallic tube which reminded Liv of a heavy milk vessel. Kaan did not believe his eyes as the basket levitated off the ground. The balloon danced upwards as softly as humid air on a warm summer day. The men on the ground cheered and clapped their hands towards the sky.

“How? Who are they?” asked the elf, pointing to the balloon above them.

“Easterners,” she said in a hushed voice. “They try to fly across the water to the continent. In their home country, balloons are used to travel over difficult-to-reach parts of the desert. That fat man is probably an inventor or an explorer, maybe a daring merchant.”

She felt more awestruck than she wanted Kaan to see. Sometimes she fantasized about flying off across the sea in a hot-air balloon, away on adventures in distant lands. But the basket was tiny compared to what she had pictured. She had imagined it would fly off in the desired direction, that riding a balloon was similar to steering a sailing boat in moderate winds. Instead an air whirl stuck it above their heads. The Easterner screamed at the men on the ground and screwed at his instruments, trying to obtain control over the swinging basket. After a few minutes, the wind changed, and the balloon sailed out over the water. Liv grabbed Kaan’s arm.

“Let’s move before the foreigners see us.”

They snuck away along the rails, further up the hill. The Easterners focused their attention on the balloon which was transforming into a distant red circle. They did not see the one and a half elf on the run.

As the sun sank beyond the edge of the world and repainted the sky in every conceivable contrast of reddish purple, Liv and Kaan came upon an abandoned draisine. In the middle of its wooden platform was a rusty pump connected to the wheels. After sweeping the tracks in front of the vehicle clean and pushing the pump back and forth until it stopped squeaking, they rolled up the mountain. They soon gained speed as they descended a hill, then the draisine rushed forward by itself. Kaan enjoyed the wind through his hair and smiled with every muscle in his face.

A ball of fire appeared on the horizon. Black flakes from the balloon’s fabric fell from the sky and disappeared into the eternal sea.